


Anteiror Fontanelle

by Itriedreallyhard



Category: Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris, The Silence of the Lambs (1991)
Genre: Gen, One Shot, Parenthood, Paternal Feelings, not as fluffy as it sounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 03:22:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7741486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itriedreallyhard/pseuds/Itriedreallyhard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr Lecter reflects with his new born son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anteiror Fontanelle

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written a Hannibal fic before, please be merciful.

The lamb cries in the black and the world is asleep for the most part. In Africa babies have been known to be snatched from their cots by baboons while their mothers take their afternoon naps. This is due to the fact that to the baboon’s ear, the sounds of crying infant and crying lamb are indistinguishable. Baboons eat both lambs and goat kids and sometimes by unhappy accident, they eat babies as well.

A rustle of linens and the father is up from bed, this is made easier by the fact he hadn’t slept anyway, not in weeks. His tired wife sleeps soundly, exhausted, slight perspiration on her cheeks and upper lip give her face a healthy glow and to him it smells _sweet_.

The babe is only two weeks old and is still incredibly vulnerable. His eyes, which were initially black have lightened somewhat to a grey blue but the colour of his irises are still yet to settle. He has no teeth and no name, but both will come in time. His hair is black at the moment but will it will lighten somewhat within the next few weeks. Nothing about this small being is permanent. He is as free as the wind. But what does he want? Why does he cry? First, one must address his nature. What does he do? He grows. He grows and he learns, that is his primary function. In order to do that he must be nurtured and loved, and that is where his power lies. To his parents he is omnipotent, his wish is their command, with a single cry they are at his side, they would kill for him, die for him - he just doesn’t know it yet.

Dr Lecter picks up the crying child as though his hands had never done anything else in his life. One hand holds the head completely, the other holds the bottom. The skull is still yet to fuse, the lambdoidal suture and parietal eminence are still yet to join to the occipital bone. The same can be said for the frontal eminence and the frontal suture. This leaves a soft diamond in the centre on the top of the skull called the anterior fontanelle, it is the most vulnerable part of the head and must be treated with the delicacy and respect it deserves. One hears frightful tales of tired, angry fathers who shake their babies in an attempt to cease their cries, the damage to the brain often irreversible, the guilt everlasting. _An egg in a box_ is what the brain of a new-born is most often likened to in medical school. Shake the box and you crack the egg. Dr Lecter’s hands don’t shake at all, although, I doubt you needed me to tell you that.

The baby settles down a little at the presence of his Father. Although his little eyes don’t open, he knows it’s him, he recognises his heartbeat (a healthy resting heartrate of 55.) Dr Lecter raises the child in his arms to rest against his chest and rocks him gently. He presses his thin lips flat against the infant’s forehead and inhales softly. He’s already memorized the smell instinctively and it provides a comfort. The baby raises a tiny hand and claws his father’s chin with little yet deceivingly sharp finger nails.

“ _Ouch_.”

Dr Lecter knows he won’t be getting back to sleep anytime soon, he’s started dreaming of Mischa again since the baby was born. So instead, he takes a seat at the rocking chair beside the crib, cradling the accident in his arms. He is by no means an unhappy accident, but an accident he is none the less. He stares at the baby and the baby stares back, quietly whimpering on occasion but instantly soothed by a light pat on the back. The sun will be coming up soon over Lake Como, the sky a bruised lilac and peach. It’s quite warm for April. They will soon be heading to Switzerland where preparations are in place for a slightly more permanent residence. It’s been five years since he’d got a sniff of Eff – Bee – Iyy coming in their direction so settling down for a while would probably do them all some good. Especially for the smallest of the trio.

“What do you say to a little bit of alpine air hmm?” the baby just blinked. “Come on now little fellow, enthral me with your acumen,” another blink. Dr Lecter sighed, “Very well.”

So the pair just sat there quietly for a little while looking at the view. One of them worried for what their new future would hold, the other blissfully unaware, which is just as well, for we can only know so much and live.

**Author's Note:**

> After all that sex, a kid was bound to come along eventually, lets be honest. How they'd deal with that, I don't know, this is my best guess I suppose.


End file.
